The car ride to and from Florida. Oh, the car ride! I wonder if I flippantly volunteered to drive all 3 kids by myself simply because I wanted to be a martyr? Is that why? It probably is; it sounds like something I would do. At this point, it's kind of blurry but some of the same phrases seemed to repeat and repeat and repeat....
Don't touch your sister!
Seriously, who took off their shoes?!? Good God.
Let me spray something on your feet because they smell like a locker
room. (searches one-handed behind the seat while driving 80 mph on an
interstate somewhere in Tennessee and pulls out a bottle of
spray-sunscreen). Perfect. Give me your feet. (And now the car smells
like a locker room and banana-scented sunscreen).
Oh, you're bored?
Gee, I'm sorry. Cuz I'm having a freaking BLAST sitting in the same
position for hours and hours while smelling your feet and staring at the
road. You know what would be the opposite of boring? If I were to crash
into the mountain rocks on the side of the road because I am YELLING at you for whining about boredom! BE QUIET and SUCK IT UP.
Don't touch your sister! Not her arm, or her hair, or her foot, or her EYEBROW. NOWHERE ON HER BODY. Just Don't.Touch.HER.
wasn't all bad, though. We played car games that had us laughing
hysterically and sang the same songs over and over again because the
reception for radio stations in the middle of farmland isn't always full
of variety. They told jokes and read books and we never got lost.
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